


The Christmas Favor

by GwennhaduBug



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: !!!!!!!!!!, Alyanette Week, Christmas, Christmas fic, F/F, Fake Dating, Fluff, Ice Skating, Mistletoe, SO much kisses, Sharing a Bed, also full of christmas tropes like, and kissing, domestic baking, guys its a trope christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwennhaduBug/pseuds/GwennhaduBug
Summary: After months apart, Alya comes to visit Marinette for Christmas in New York City, where her best friend has a fashion internship. She's been harboring a secret long distance crush for almost as long...and when she lands, it turns out that Marinette needs a little favor. Through a language mishap, Marinette may have kind of... sort of... just a little bit... absolutely told all her roommates that Alya was her girlfriend. And would Alya terribly mind just pretending, for the sake of saving face?Alya is all too willing to play along. It's the spirit of Christmas, isn't it?For Alyanette Week Day 3: Confession.I'm posting early because I won't have internet on the 13th.





	The Christmas Favor

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot-gone-wild is for Alyanette Week Day 3: Confession. I'm posting early because I won't have internet on the 13th. In the spirit of Christmas you coooould peek and read this now...or you could wait until November 13th!
> 
> I love Christmas so much. merry christmas y'all.

 

Sunlight poured through Alya’s plane window, as it had for hours and hours and hours. She flew west, the sun flying right alongside in what should have been an annoying, far-too-bright trip. After all, she slept barely two hours the entire eight hour flight.  But Alya was too excited to care. She wasn’t just flying west...she was flying to Marinette.

Her eyes were locked on her phone, watching the same Marco Polo videos over and over again. Marinette’s bright blue eyes stared up at her, infectious grin and her spunky New York New Me haircut bouncing with Marinette's glee. “It’s 6 am here, 11 am where you are, which means you’re getting on the plane soon! Are you as excited as I am? Eeee….! Alya and Marinette’s Christmas in New York! No akumas here, I mean obviously, no Hawk Moth...just you and me and my second favorite city! I already have so many things for us to do. My roommates can’t wait to meet you. This is going to be the best! See you soon!” And then, Marinette blew her a kiss. Her eyes went wide, she stammered a laugh and the video ended abruptly.

Alya probably would have watched that video a dozen times on the flight over regardless, but with that blown kiss…? She watched it on repeat over the entirety of Spain and well into the Atlantic Ocean.

It had been 7 months and 2 weeks since Alya saw Marinette last. A couple of months after Hawk Moth was defeated, Audrey Bourgeois reached out yet again to bring Marinette on board. Free from the threats of akumas, Marinette left Tikki in Paris and moved to New York City in early May to start her internship as a junior design assistant... before even taking the BAC. It was incredible how Marinette continued to find ways to impress Alya, not the least of which when she revealed her identity to all of their superhero friends. This followed that pattern perfectly. But god, that didn’t mean Alya had to like being apart from her best friend for 7 months.

Especially not when those 7 months were so...enlightening.

As observant as Alya liked to consider herself, it was Nino who dropped the ton of bricks on Alya’s head; in the middle of their anniversary date at the zoo of all places. Alya looked out the plane window at the field of clouds, remembering what he’d said while she gazed off in the distance in a similar pose with a similar sigh.

_“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” Nino had asked. “Marinette?”_

_“Do you think she likes the New York zoos better than Paris zoos?”_

_Nino had rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t. I don’t think she likes the zoos better, or the museums, or the bakeries, or the friends, or the superheroes, or the foxes, or the weather. Alya...you can just admit that you miss her.”_

_Alya hadn’t answered immediately. When she did, it was throwing her head back and groaning. “It’s only been three weeks. And she’s there for a full year, Nino! Why would I miss her this much already?”_

_He softly grabbed her hand, his voice quiet, and he said, “because you love Marinette.”_

_“Of course I love her, I-“_

_“I mean...that you’re in love with her, Alya. You’re in love with Marinette.”_

Alya giggled to herself at the memory. The way she had gasped at him. Argued back incessantly. Eventually confessed how right he was, and broke down in tears, right in front of the polar bears. How had she fallen in love with Marinette? How had she not _realized_ it? And why the hell did she have to be in love with Marinette when she lived in New York City, and not five blocks away from her house?

Honestly, even if she hadn’t realized she was in love with her amazing, talented, superpowered, beautiful, forgetful, dedicated, anxious, perfectionist best friend, Alya still would have insisted they Skype every time their timezones overlapped. Being in love with her and knowing it made it even more important to see Marinette’s face every day from 8 pm to midnight, chattering away in French about everything. Miraculously, Marinette seemed just as dedicated to the schedule as the lovesick Alya, even to the point where Alya would wake up in the morning and find her phone still Skyping a dark room, broadcasting a sleeping girl, and a handful of times where she would take that phone with sleeping Marinette to school and Marinette would wake up, peeking out of Alya’s pocket into the mid-day classroom. Neither girl ever wanted to hang up first.

Alya tapped the settings on her monitor, mounted to the chair in front of her seat. Just four more hours until landing in JFK. Plenty of time to watch more Marinette videos, all stored neatly in her phone files. Maybe the one where she danced with the fake Ladybug in Times Square? Her earnest and unintelligibly excited video of the fabric warehouse at her internship? Or the one where she complained about the pastries in New York? Or the one where she discovered Pumpkin Spice Lattes? Alya smirked, making herself comfortable in her chair and pulled up an old favorite...where Marinette had lost her voice and told Alya how much she missed their friends in a low, husky voice. That one, followed by the message Marinette sent on Alya’s birthday where she cried over how much she missed her, and ending with the plane video and the blown kiss. And Alya could confess to herself one thing- she was a sucker for Marinette.

Three more hours, fifty-two more minutes.

 

———

 

JFK international airport was huge. Considering Alya’s home airport was Charles de Gaulle, it felt a little less overwhelming, but that didn’t mean she didn’t get almost lost a lot of her walk to baggage claim. She had a checked suitcase waiting for her on the carousel, but much more important was the young woman waiting for her next to it.

Alya rounded the corner, eyes scanning the crowd for a short black pixie cut of hair. She heard Marinette before she saw her, squealing at the top of her lungs. “Alya!”

Alya turned towards the noise and saw Marinette weave and dip between the massive crowds of people. She pounced on Alya with such a forceful hug, they both spun around. “Marinette!” Alya screeched back, squeezing her tight. She was here! She was real! She was solid, she was soft, she was...crying? “Marinette, don’t you start! I’m gonna cry!”

“Oh, my god, I missed you, Alya!” Marinette cried. She scrambled to hug Aya even tighter, sobbing into Alya’s shoulder. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you more!” Alya insisted, pulling back far enough to see Marinette’s face. She choked on her own sob at just the sight. “You’re not a computer! You’re real! You have…” she put her hand directly over Marinette’s face, getting a palm full of tears. “You have skin and lips and a nose and...you’re real!”

Marinette laughed and picked Alya’s hand off of her face. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re here! Alya Césaire is in New York City! You’re here!!”

“Merry Christmas, girl,” Alya said, squeezing her tight again. “There’s nowhere I would rather be,” she said softly. Honestly. Here was the girl she loved, in her arms for the first time since she _realized_ she loved her, at Christmas. Alya’s arms were almost shaking, but not as badly as her voice.

“Don’t tease,” Marinette said, thick with emotion.

“I’m not!” Alya promised, blinking back tears. “I’m not.” The girls giggled again, staring at one another for another hour. Or was it three seconds? God, Alya couldn’t tell. All she knew was eventually, another tourist bumped them with luggage, apologized in English, and woke Alya from her stupor.

They set to work finding her checked bag, then working through the maze of an airport to the ridesharing pickups where they could find Marinette’s Uber. Delighted French conversations, sprinkled with Alya’s attempts to practice English, carried them all the way to the bus and eventually the outdoor waiting area. The moment Alya stepped off the bus and crunched her way into gray slush, she gasped.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” Alya gasped, recoiling and pulling her coat as tight as she could.

“Welcome to New York,” Marinette laughed. She opened her arms and immediately, Alya stepped into them. “I’m used to this. It’s a _lot_ colder here,” Marinette purred, rubbing Alya’s arms.

God. Alya was okay with the cold now, if it made Marinette this cuddly. She was still shivering, but wormed her way into a closer embrace; so close, she could smell flowery perfume and see Marinette’s puffs of breath. “You might have to cuddle me a _lot_ this Christmas. I have Martinician blood,” Alya insisted. And maybe she was just trying to weasel her way into cuddling with the girl she loved. But Marinette’s cheeks, already red from the chill, sprung up into happy little apples and she started to giggle. And giggle. And giggle. Which just made Alya start to laugh even more.

The Uber finally came while both girls were giggling, wrapped up in one another, and Marinette grabbed Alya’s hand, tugging her into the car with a rush that extended from her fingertips all the way to her neck. Alya listened and watched in admiration as her best friend easily communicated with the driver in fluent English. She told him where to go, answered his small talk, and Alya caught a handful of familiar words and phrases...but mostly sat, feeling very out of place and over her head.

Marinette eventually turned back to her and returned to their first language. “Most of my roommates are still at the apartment for Christmas break. Shyanne is staying until the 22nd, and Vanessa invited us to her family’s Christmas on Long Island. They live in a house and it’s pretty close. Shyanne is the redhead from Texas...it might be hard for you to understand her. She has a very thick Southern accent.”

Alya’s eyes widened. “Really? Like in the movies?”

“Like ‘Sweet Home Alabama’! My roommate who lives in North Dakota already went home. Vanessa is very nice and she shares a bedroom with me.” Alya nodded, keeping mental notes. She’d seen the girls over Skype before, but it was already hard to understand them through the language barrier; add the complications of the computer and it was almost impossible. But she could keep two girls apart.

Alya was about to say something in regards to that when Marinette started to humm and haw, stiffening up and looking nervous, the way she always did before trying to ask out Adrien, and when Alya had been close to finding her secret identity.

“Hey, girl, what is it?” Alya asked, looking her up and down.

“I’m just...uh, thinking about my roommates.”

“And why is that making you so nervous?”

“Um….I….uh, I was supposed to tell you this earlier, but...oh, gosh, you’re going to be so upset. I don’t know why I let this happen, I’m so sorry, I’m such a bad friend and you’re never going to talk to me again!”

Alya furrowed her brow and grabbed Marinette’s hand. “Marinette, shit, calm down! What’s wrong? What’s going on? Are they homophobic or something?”

“No!” She laughed nervously. “They’re really, _really_ not. That’s not the problem.”

“Then tell me what the problem is, girl.”

“You’re not going to like me anymore if I tell you!” Marinette crowed. Alya couldn’t help but chuckle. There was _nothing_ Marinette could do that would make Alya stop liking her, and she told her so. She just didn’t tell her the extent of that truth...Marinette was so solidly implanted in Alya’s heart, not even the Atlantic Ocean, 5 hour time difference, different interests, or new friends had reduced those feelings. “This might…” Marinette muttered. “I have a...a confession.”

“Go ahead, girl,” Alya said, softly and encouragingly, far more soft than she felt. Her body was on fire with curiosity, the need for a story and a juicy confession...especially one from Marinette. But when her best friend got anxious and worried like this, gentle coaxing worked best.

Marinette said something to herself in English, something that sounded like “Okay, I can do this,” and then took a deep breath, rushing her words like she had practiced them thousands of times. “Remember how we spend hours and hours a day Skyping together? I have you on my computer almost any time I’m home. Well, when I first moved in, I wasn’t as good at English as I am now. Shyanne and Vanessa and Jayla asked me a lot about you, and I tried to tell them that you were my best friend and the closest girl I know. But I had language trouble, you know? Understanding them and speaking to them. I wasn’t that good in English class! And I, euh, accidentally told them that you were, euh, my girlfriend. As in, romantically, not just friends. And by the time I realized it, it had been so long, so I just sort of never corrected them! So they think we are dating and, um, expect that I’m bringing my girlfriend home for Christmas.”

Alya blinked. She reran Marinette’s words in her head. Girlfriend? She said they were _girlfriends??_ As in romantic, liking one another, complimenting and kissing and cuddling and-

“Oh, did I say that wrong? Is my French getting ruined now, too? Alya, did I mess up?”

“Girl, that depends. Did you tell your roommates I’m your _girlfriend?_ ”

Marinette cringed. “You’re mad. I knew you would be! That was so stupid and-“

“Woah, Mari, woah. No, don’t freak out.” Alya grabbed Marinette’s hands to calm her down, effectively shutting her up and getting her attention all at once. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Alya laughed. She was everything _but_ mad. She was ecstatic, confused, delighted, encouraged, amused, elated… god, if only Marinette had been telling her roommates truth…! “It’s cool. So they think we’re dating.” She struggled to keep her smile sane and under control as she asked, “which means you want us to pretend we are dating around them? Cuddle and flirt and…” kiss? Kiss? Would they get to _Kiss?? “_ Things like that?”

Marinette was a lovely, unfairly kissable shade of pink as she muttered, “Yeah, things like that. I mean, if it isn’t too...too much to ask. For you to pretend you l-like me like that. Just while you’re here for Christmas! I don’t know if...uh…if you can...pretend.”

“Marinette, you know I think you’re the most incredible girl in the entire world. The most miraculous,” she added, poking Marinette in the ear, “in every way. I promise you from the bottom of my heart...it’s not going to be a problem. I can pretend.” Warmly, she added, “we have a lot of good material to work with.”

Marinette sighed in relief. She collapsed against Alya’s arms, closing her eyes and sighing, “good. Thank you, Alya. Thank you so much.”

“This is such a Marinette problem to be in. Snowballing a misunderstanding into a massive lie?” Alya tittered disapprovingly, but her smile was warm and her hands found their way to feel the short buzz of Marinette’s haircut. Fuck, it was hot. _And the fake girlfriend could play with it all she wanted._ “You’re lucky I’m so magnanimous to help you out.”

“I am,” Marinette sighed again, cuddling closer. Alya knew this was just the very touchy, very affectionate Marinette, but it still sent her a thrill and it made her even more excited to pretend. With her voice warm against Alya, Marinette purred, “It’s a very nice Christmas gift to me.”

Alya hummed instead of answering and rested her head on Marinette’s as she watched the approaching skyline. Another confession to herself? Alya didn’t see it as a Christmas gift. She saw Marinette’s ‘favor’ as a Christmas _miracle._

———

 

Marinette lived on the 15th floor of a high-rise in a student apartment, mostly occupied with bright-eyed college kids. Marinette chattered with Alya about her journey to New York up the elevator and helped her roll her suitcase to the door. She seemed confident, pushing past people in the hall and making her turns like second nature. That all stopped when she reached the door. “Okay,” Marinette said, a little louder than she needed, “here we go. You’re my...my g-girlfriend. I’m yours. We h-hold hands, cuddle...um, just so you know, they think we’ve been dating for a year and a half.”

Alya’s eyes popped in surprise. “A year and a half? Damn!”

“Well, euh, it’s been 7 months since I saw you last, you know that! And they asked how long we were dating and I panicked and I said a year, so that’s basically a year and a half, and-”

“Girl, it’s okay,” Alya chuckled, grabbing her shoulder. _A year before she left. Okay, I can do that,_ she thought. “Any other crucial details to our love story?” God, she loved how that made Marinette blush. “Cute couple things? Inside jokes we should know? Pet names?”

“Nothing really,” Marinette said. “You know how you call me ‘girl’? Well, uh, they think ‘meuf’ means ‘muffin’.”[*]

Alya threw her head back and laughed. Of course they did. “Okay…. _muffin_.”

Marinette made a face. “That doesn’t sound very good in your accent in real life.”

Alya’s scoffed. “My accent? Girl, you got the same accent!”

“I just mean it sounds different than when I’m talking in English! It’s not as...um…”

Alya’s comeback slid right off her tongue. “I could call you choupette.” She shrugged. “It kind of means the same thing.”

“That’s believable,” Marinette squeaked, blushing furiously. It was a beautiful blush, one that made Alya smile, that she wanted to see again. “Okay, choupette,” she said softly. Marinette’s blush deepened. Alya heard her own words again and felt heat creep up her cheeks. She was about to say something, break their awkward tension, when the apartment door swung open.

A very tall girl with waves of red hair filled the entire doorway, beaming down at Alya and Marinette. “Ah thought ah heard some cute French-talkin!” She exclaimed. “Helloooo, Alya, mah name is Shyanne! Welcome to America! We’ve heard so much abouchu.”

Alya smiled back and took her open hand, pulling Shyanne into a kiss next to each cheek, which made her yelp in surprise. And then Alya paused. She hadn’t understood every word Shyanne said, but it _sounded_ like a greeting. Did she not…?

Oh. Right. The Americans didn’t bisou to greet. Alya tried to ignore her own faux-pas and tried to answer the greeting. “Hello, my name is Alya.”

Shyanne laughed. “Yes, we know. Let me scootch out of the way for you two.” She leapt out of the way dramatically, leaving the doorway open and letting Alya see into the room where a dark-skinned short girl with dark brown hair stood, grinning and waiting.

Marinette grabbed Alya’s hand and led her into the room; immediately, as if they’d triggered a trap, the shorter girl started to squeal. She squealed something way too high and way too fast for Alya to understand, but she could see that the girl was pointing over their heads. _Mistletoe_. Alya knew this American tradition. She squealed out again, something Alya couldn’t understand, but then spoke in a much more clear and determined voice, “ _KISS!_ ”

Now that word, Alya knew.

Even her body knew that word. Her heart started to stammer and pound. Her fingers tensed. Her eyes darted to Marinette, her mouth went dry, her body seemed to vibrate. Marinette was reacting similarly, looking at Alya like she was a snake.

Aw, but fuck, they were supposed to look like a couple; a couple who had been dating for almost two years! They could do this, they could kiss... _their first kiss_ ...and not look like crazy people. And yes, kissing Marinette meant the world to Alya. But she couldn’t act like that, she couldn’t act...she had to stop overthinking, god! She was _kissing Marinette_ as if they always kissed. That was all, that was...no big deal. The fake dating thing was starting with a bang, that’s all!

Mustering every ounce of false confidence she had, Alya triggered her characteristic smirk. She dropped her carry-on onto the floor and tugged Marinette’s hand, making her jump closer with a squeak. Alya watched Marinette blush and saw how her eyes kept flicking from Alya’s lips to her eyes. Trying to stop her hand from shaking, Alya brought her hand up to Marinette’s hair and over that tantalizing buzzed side and pulled her in. Alya winked, licked her own lips once, and shut her eyes.

Marinette was the one to close the gap. Alya felt a tug on her sweater at the same moment she felt those perfect, soft, slightly-chapped lips against hers. A quick peck, followed immediately by a softer, two-second kiss. Two beautiful seconds of connection, of bliss, of exquisite panic.

They broke apart, but Marinette’s grip tightened on Alya’s sweater and god, Alya could still feel her breath on her lips...so... _fuck it_ she kissed her a third time. But at the end of that third time, she felt Marinette giggle against her lips. And, wow, they did it. They kissed! They kissed in front of these two random American girls and Marinette was totally okay with it and, alright, it wasn’t real, but it had _really happened_ and it was so good and _it would probably happen again!_ The entire situation was just too much to contain, until Alya started laughing as well, falling into Marinette’s cuddling embrace.

“That was so cute,” the short girl (Vanessa?) gushed, gripping tightly onto her much taller roommate’s arm. Alya snapped to look over at them, and heard Vanessa say, “They’re so stinkin’ cute. Aww, look at how Marinette stares at her!”

 _Marinette_. Alya made the smallest of faces. She turned to her best friend and said in quick French, “Your name sounds better in French than English.”

“So does _yours_ ,” Marinette agreed in French. “Just wait until you hear it in Shyanne’s accent.”

Shyanne spoke up, saying, “Hey, y’all! Not fair, y’all gotta speak English if y’all are talkin’ bout me!”

Shyanne said something else at the end, a question that must have been ‘what did you say’, because Marinette answered, “I said that you have a strong accent. It might be hard for Alya to understand.”

“Oh, shoo’. Don’ worry, Ay-lyuh, yull get used ter it.”

Alya blinked, gripped Marinette’s hand, and laughed again. This week was going to be full of a lot of things she didn’t understand, she was pretty sure about that. But Marinette gripped her hand again, leaned in, and _kissed her cheek_ and okay, she would take a thousand weird pronunciations of her name to get this kind of regular affection. Marinette hefted Alya’s dropped carry-on. “Vanessa, aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

“Calculus can wait. I wanted to be here when you two lovebirds arrived,” Vanessa said. “I’m Vanessa Cervantes, by the way, Alya.” And damn, Vanessa had practiced Alya’s name. It still wasn’t as gorgeous as when Marinette said it...it never would be...but her smile was genuine as she stretched out a hand. “You, um...cheek-kiss, right?”

Alya nodded, leading Vanessa in a stumbling bisou. Vanessa seemed delighted at the success, then waved towards one of the doors at the end of the apartment’s front room. “You can go in.  I’ll probably just study out here if you want to...um…” she said something in English that Alya didn’t understand, some long word. She looked at Marinette for understanding, but Marinette seemed almost as lost. So Vanessa tried again, flushing a darker shade of tan, “Reconnect? Catch up? Get, um…”

Alya’s eyes lit up, realizing she understood what Vanessa was fishing for. “You mean sex?” Alya asked. Shyanne bust out laughing as Marinette and Vanessa blushed. “Isn’t that the right word? Sex? That’s what you mean, right?”

Marinette’s response was loud and panicked and high-pitched, the way she always acted when put in an uncomfortable spotlight. “Maybe we just drop off your luggage and take a nap! You have jet-lag!” she shouted, pushing Alya in the back towards her shared room.

Switching to her more comfortable French, Alya asked, “Did I embarrass you? Wasn’t that what she meant?”

“You were just excited to understand, Alya! But let’s go lay down before you say something worse!” She pushed Alya all the way to the door, opened it, and called out to her roommates, “We’re just taking a nap, we’re not doing anything weird!”

“Sex isn’t weird,” Alya teased, pleased to see Marinette get even redder. Alya laughed. She had missed Marinette so much. Teasing her might be as good as kissing her. Okay, no comparison, it wasn’t as good. But she was excited to do both for as long as they could.

Confession? Alya _might_ already be planning on how to use and abuse this situation as much as possible.

———

Alya wasn’t conscious for most of the first day in New York City. She had hoped to talk with Marinette, practice her English with the roommates, and make their plans for the week. But her best friend was right, and the moment she dropped her bag on the floor and sat down on Marinette’s bed, she passed out. It wasn’t even 7 pm in New York, but that was midnight at home, and Alya had spent the entire day in airports and airplanes. She woke up hours later, blinking awake into a dark room, shaken gently with a tender, “Alya...Alya…”

Alya slowly opened her eyes and made out the form of Marinette, her face half-lit by the city lights streaming in through their blinds. “it’s morning?” She slurred, a hand moving to reach Marinette.

“No, it’s time to go to bed,” Marinette replied in tender French.

“You woke me up to tell me to go to sleep?” Alya grumbled, rubbing her hand over her face.

“I woke you up because, um, I have to…” Marinette started, weakly. Alya scooted closer to the wall and tapped the space next to her. They cuddled in bed before; almost every sleepover in Paris. And they were fake-dating now, right? So it only made sense. Besides, Alya was too tired to pretend she was going to offer to sleep on the floor. “Are you sure?” Marinette breathed out.

“Mari, girl. We do this all the time. Besides, we’re supposed to be dating, right? So we should cuddle,” Alya answered. It made sense. They _did_ do this all the time. So softly, Marinette lowered herself into the bed, scooting along. Somehow, they both started to giggle a little bit, piecing their bodies together, trying to find the way they fit all those months ago. Marinette tucked a knee in between Alya’s legs, Alya wrapped an arm to hold onto Marinette’s waist, she felt Marinette’s giggling breath on her collarbone, and...oh, _fuck_ , she never appreciated this back in Paris. Marinette was so soft, so comfortable, so perfect, so _close_. This close, she could see her big, shining blue eyes and smell her hair. She could feel the pressure of her thigh between Alya’s legs and the gentle squeezes of her hand as they worked to find a comfortable sleeping position.

Alya was slowly waking up, which wasn’t ideal, since the glowing clock next to them read 11:04 pm, but at least it meant more time aware and conscious of this incredible Christmas miracle currently pressing her body into the soft sides of Alya.

They both giggled a little until they were impossibly comfortable, Marinette humming as Alya sighed in content. Marinette’s head was resting on Alya’s shoulder, warm breath washing over her collarbone, sending shivers through Alya’s body and warming her down to her soul. This was perfect. This was ideal. It was the kind of intimacy with her absolute favorite person that made Alya think of their earlier kiss...and made her pine for another one. She swallowed stiffly, eyes up at the ceiling, and whispered in French, “Is Vanessa here? In the room? She shares, right?”

“Yes, she shares. And yes, she’s in her bed,” Marinette replied. Her quiet voice vibrated Alya’s chest.

Alya took a beat of silence while her heart took three. “She is? She, um, we should probably make sure she’s not suspicious.”

“Of what?”

“If you were my girlfriend and you woke me up to cuddle, I think I would kiss you,” Alya explained, sounding more confident than she felt.

Especially when there was a beat of silence. Especially when Marinette’s breath stopped and her body tensed. Especially when...

“Then you probably should,” Marinette said. She lifted her head, putting her chin on Alya’s chest. Alya silently, nervously grabbed Marinette’s elbow. Honestly, she had no idea if Vanessa was watching, or cared, or any of that. The idea they might not be seen made this all the more nerve wracking. It was easier for Alya to perform for a crowd than just Marinette, and their comfortable position was hard to break. But she slid Marinette a little higher, moved herself a little lower, lined their faces up nose to nose. Marinette was lit in yellows from the window and blues from the room and every inch was beautiful. Beautiful enough to kiss.

So she did. She pressed her lips to Marinette’s, which were far softer than before. They were so soft, Alya’s lips slid against and over and off the lips in one fluid motion. So of course, she needed to kiss her again.

Marinette held her tighter and wiggled herself into a comfortable position against Alya’s body. Their second kiss of the night was longer, but not as long as the third... _the third!_ An entirely unnecessary, beautiful, warm and soft and heart-pounding kiss where Marinette fucking _whimpered._ Her whimpering lips played against Alya’s, so Alya moved hers a little longer against them and _god, oh god,_ it took her everything she had not to moan and express how much she actually loved this. How much she loved the tantalizing taste of toothpaste just beyond Marinette’s lips, the electric shock, the pooling warmth as their lips moved gently and kisses exchanged back and forth. Alya’s grip moved just slightly, and she tried to hold herself together, not push this farther than her luck could take before breaking. Finally, before it got too much, Marinette pulled away and stuffed her forehead against Alya’s shoulder. Which, okay, Alya did need to catch her breath. She hadn’t noticed she was going light-headed from the sheer ecstasy of kissing, but it was probably a good thing that Marinette stopped. After all, these kisses were purely out of Alya’s greed.

If Vanessa was watching, she would be convinced it was real. If they had kissed any longer, _Alya_ would have been convinced it was real.

Especially after Alya nuzzled Marinette’s forehead to find a place to kiss it. Especially after the way Marinette giggled back.

They held one another close again, hearts beating in rhythm and toes tracing calves, and Alya was in a world of disbelief. Sure, this was all fake and yes, she had a miniature Nino sitting on her shoulder, reminding her this wasn’t real and she shouldn’t pretend it was. But Alya was only here for seven days anyway...why not enjoy the hell out of it?

Alya confessed to herself as she slowly drifted to sleep, stroking Marinette’s soft winter pajamas, she planned to do exactly that.

———

It was all too easy for Alya to fall into fake dating with Marinette. Their friendship had always been physical and affectionate and uplifting. All Alya had to do was add the level of affection she _wanted_ to add and that was it, they were convincing. She could spin Marinette around and catch her in her arms, dipping her for a quick, theatrical kiss. Marinette would squeeze her tight and hold her long as they stared at Christmas lights. They could laugh and throw paper scraps at each other while wrapping roommate  presents and Alya could give in to that pressing desire to wrap ribbon around Marinette’s waist and pull her tight. And they could kiss...which Alya made sure to do _a lot_ , with every roommate’s existence as an excuse. Besides, Marinette happened to walk under that _wonderful_ mistletoe quite a lot. It was American tradition, and who was she to change things?

After her first couple of days in New York, Alya found it harder to remember when she wasn’t supposed to be, well, dating the girl she loved. Those moments where they were truly alone with no prying eyes were the hardest part; Alya had tasted the poison of Marinette’s lips. She had died, gone to this heaven of New York City in sparkling white snow, and had no desire to crash back to reality on Earth where they weren’t a thing.

She had to stop herself multiple times from holding Marinette’s hand in the dark theater during _Chicago_ and honestly forgot not to during Act Two. But Marinette didn’t let go, so maybe she forgot, too. And the next day, when Vanessa was taking her final and Shyanne was out shopping, Alya very nearly kissed Marinette again. Instead, they opted to watch a Hallmark movie. A terrible choice, honestly...it just made her want to kiss even more.

The third day in the city, Shyanne declared it was time for Alya and Marinette to join she and her boyfriend on a touristy double date. At least, that’s how Marinette translated it...Alya still understood almost nothing that girl said. But she was very much game to put on layers of warm clothing and head outside with travel mugs of sugary sweet hot cocoa. (Really, did the Americans need to add whipped cream _and_ sprinkles _and_ peppermint sticks to what Alya considered a breakfast drink? No. But it was delicious and made Marinette’s lips warm and chocolatey, so Alya _loved_ it.)

She adored New York. The buildings were tall and never ending, as if they were in a forest of humans. The people on the street were busy and frantic and weird. Music, typically holiday songs, poured out of storefronts and sprang off of every street corner. The snow, disappointingly, had turned gray and slushy and splashed up at them whenever cars sped around corners. But when that happened, Marinette squealed and hid in Alya’s grip so honestly? Still a perk. She was surrounded by exhausting English, but similar to her home in Paris, the bubbling soundtrack they heard on the streets was a patchwork of languages and very rarely did Alya feel lost or out of place. Especially at every tourist site; French was typically the third or fourth language posted on signs. This included when Marinette, Shyanne, Paul, and Alya found themselves at the glittering gold statues of the Rockefeller Plaza.

“The Rockettes Christmas Spectacular happens every year here,” Shyanne explained. “But _we_ are doing an even better tradition. Ice skating!”

Excitedly, the group of four made their way to the long line of tourists, hoping to check out ice skates. They chartered naturally with one another, Alya needing less and less translations to understand Shyanne as time went on. Luckily her boyfriend Paul was from the east coast and had an accent Alya recognized from her English classes. By the time they were lacing up boots, Alya and Paul were getting along so well, they hosted their own private conversation.

“I gotta say, you really are everything Marinette said,” Paul told Alya as he turned his foot in the boot.

“What’s that? A bitch?” Alya asked.

He laughed. “No! Beautiful, funny, smart, quick…” Honestly, Alya hadn’t felt any of those last three things while in America. But Paul continued, “We knew you were beautiful at least. You’re always on her computer, not to mention her Alya shrine.” Her Alya…. _what?_ She definitely didn’t know the word ‘shrine’ in English, but desperate to hear the rest of Paul’s version of Marinette’s praises, she kept quiet. “She has pictures of you all over her room! You and the Paris superhero’s. A few of her other friends. Apparently you both have a model friend…? But from the way she talks about Paris, you would think you’re the only other person there. She _adores_ you. It’s really cute.”

Alya wasn’t sure he really said all that. Wishful thinking may have blended in with her limited English…but then again, Marinette was an incredibly dedicated storyweaver. She was terrible at lying on the spot, but when it came to crafting elaborate stories and lies, even lies the size of Ladybug, Alya knew she was a master. So...most likely...she was just very dedicated to her lie. The lie of which she was now reaping the massive accidental benefits.

That was probably it, because Alya could feel Marinette’s nervous glance. Paul smiled softly, asking, “So, you met in middle school, right? When did you realize you liked Marinette?”

“Alya, you’re all done tying your shoes!” Marinette squeaked in English, stomping over on the rubber floor to her best friend and effectively interrupting her conversation with Paul. “Let’s go skate!”

Alya smirked up at Marinette. “Okay, girl, let’s go.” She put her gloved hand in Marinette’s and let herself be lifted up. They walked together over to the ice, marching past Shyanne and Paul, Alya teasing Marinette’s choice of wearing just tights and a dress as they went. “You’re going to fall on your ass and freeze, Mari.”

“I won’t fall!”

“Marinette, I’ve ice-skated with you before. You’re _going_ to fall.” She switched to French to add, “Maybe if you were in your super-suit you wouldn’t fall, but like this? Prepare for a cold butt!”

“My tights are very thick,” Marinette assured her.

But Alya kept on, switching back to English to add, “I can warm up your cold butt.” She smirked and watched Marinette blush and stumble. God, she _loved_ this fake-dating thing. Keep Shyanne in proximity and Alya could say whatever the hell she wanted. Marinette would just think she was being a dedicated friend. She laughed as Marinette tried and failed to respond, finally backing herself onto the ice and putting out both hands for her. “Come on, I won’t let you fall, choupette. Let’s go.”

Marinette took Alya’s hands, sliding out onto the ice. It was brisk, but not uncomfortable, as there were plenty of people skating around them and filling the air with heat. Frank Sinatra crooned his Christmas carols over gigantic speakers, songs that Marinette could join in as they both found their footing. Alya couldn’t stop beaming. She was holding hands with Marinette, skating in the middle of Rockefeller Plaza, watched over by the largest, prettiest Christmas tree she had ever scene. “It’s like a movie,” she said, pulling Marinette in a little closer. “This was a great idea.”

“I’m glad you’re so willing to go along with this,” Marinette said. They had taken to talking in French again, having lost Shyanne and Paul in the crowd behind them. “I feel a lot better, knowing I have you as an ally.”

“Girl, you _always_ have me as an ally. You know I’m with you, at your side for every crazy, cook-eyed plan you have.”

“Getting Adrien…”

“Beating up his bitch-ass dad…”

“Entering the amateur dress-making competition…”

“Those times with Chloé...”

“My class elections!”

“ _All_ your weirdo, genius, incredible Ladybug lucky charm plans.”

“The pastry picnic I almost ruined. You stood up for me so much!”

“Convincing your roommates that you’re in love with me...”

Marinette opened her mouth to continue their prattle, but closed it. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her hand gripped Alya’s a little tighter. “You’re doing _very_ well with this one, yes.”

“Let’s make sure our backstory is consistent, then. You were so scared I’d say the wrong this to Paul about when I started liking you.” Alya smiled, spinning Marinette around to grip both her hands. She squeaked in surprise, but Alya spun them both so that she could skate backwards, Marinette skating forwards with a little more confidence. “What story did you tell them? How did I land the most incredible girl in Paris, hmm?”

“What? Me?! No! _I_ landed the most incredible girl in Paris! You are!”

“Are you kidding? You’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng! You are kind, you are creative, you are thoughtful, and cute, and inspiring, and you are _Ladybug_ , and you’re out here making your dreams come true at age 17!”

“ _Exactly_ , Alya. And I’m nothing without you. You make me assertive and made me Ladybug because _you_ are this...incredible, unstoppable force. You find what you want and you take it! You look for the best in others, you help them, you’re so funny and clever and so beautiful and powerful and generous and you stand up for everyone and teach me how to be a better person. You’re...you’re _Alya Césaire!_ You’re amazing!”

Alya had to let go of her double grip on Marinette and move to her side, holding just one hand, because god, she couldn’t just say those things! It made her want to...well...be a lot more than a fulfillment of a lie gone wild. “Let’s compromise. We’re both amazing. So how did our amazingness happen, according to you?”

“You mean the story I told my roommates?”

“Obviously,” Alya chuckled. “It’s not like there’s _truth_ to tell them.”

“Right. Yes. Well, uh, I told them that we were friends ever since your first day of school in Paris. They don’t know about Ladybug, Chat Noir, Rena Rouge...any of that. I told them how you helped me get my first boyfriend, and, um...I said that while I was dating him, I kept wanting to skip dates with him to be with you. I figured it was just missing my friend, right?”

Alya swallowed hard. She remembered the months before Marinette moved, how she kept telling Nino it was important she spend as much time with Marinette as possible. She skipped out on date after date to just sit in Marinette’s room get in tickle fights, talk about the vague future, or just watch her sketch.

Marinette continued, “I told them that it was fall and we were about to start the new school year. I had broken up with Adrien, because I thought it was a bad sign if I wanted to be with friends more than boyfriends, but I didn’t realize I liked you, right?”

“So you just lied about the entire first half of the year last year?” Alya asked, surprised. Marinette and Adrien had dated, in reality, for half of lycée. It wasn’t until Marinette started seriously talking to Audrey Bourgeois about the internship that she ended things, not wanting to do long distance with him.

“I didn’t say it was a smart lie,” Marinette sighed. “I told them it had been a year and then realized a year ago, he was still...you ….you know.”

Alya nodded. She imagined the scenes Marinette told in the story she spun. “So you broke up with him and then…?”

“We were at a sleepover at your house. It was raining. The power went out, so we lit a bunch of candles, and-”

“When the hell did this happen?” Alya laughed. She directed their skating path between two other couples and around a bend.

“It didn’t! It’s a story! It’s my story I tell! Let me finish it, Alya.”

“Sorry, girl. Go on. The power went out during our sleepover.”

“We were cuddling, because it was cold. There was a lot of very romantic candle light around us. Since we didn’t have power, we were playing truth or dare-”

“What, was my laptop dead, too? And our phones?”

_“Alya!”_

“Sorry!” Alya laughed.

“ _Anyway_. We were playing truth or dare and played a few questions. I chose truth, you asked if I liked someone new, and I said yes. Then on my turn, you chose truth, so I asked _you_ if you liked girls. And you said yes.”

“I came out in truth or dare? The hell? You knew I liked girls since-”

“Alya, it was for the story! It’s romantic!” Marinette crowed. She stopped skating, making Alya stumble. Marinette squeaked and caught her, stumbling herself on her skates. “Sorry, Alya! Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Marinette apologized, pulling their feet even beneath themselves. Marinette’s peppermint breath was close to Alya’s face. It was hard not to kiss her…

“It’s okay,” Alya breathed out, standing taller. “You can keep going with your story. I won’t interrupt again...I promise.”

“You won’t?”

“I won’t.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, giving a stern nod that was so fucking cute, Alya giggled. Marinette glared, Alya put her hand up in apology, and then they took hands and skated a little farther before Marinette felt ready to restart. When she did, she spoke slower. “Then you asked truth or dare, I said dare, and you dared me to tell Adrien who you liked now. I told you that he already knew, because it was one of our friends. And then I asked truth or dare, you said dare, so I...dared you to kiss me.”

Alya met Marinette’s eyes, then looked at her lips, which Marinette was licking. She knew what kissing Marinette was like now. This scene was beautifully easy to imagine. Marinette didn’t finish the story right away, and the slow, saxophone version of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ seemed to wrap around them instead. “And then?” Alya prompted.

“And then we kissed. We kissed for a long time, and you dared me to be your girlfriend,” Marinette said softly. “So I said yes, of course, and that was that.”

The music swelled more, Marinette’s hand flexed, and Alya couldn’t take it anymore. She looked over at Marinette, slowing down just a little bit. “That’s a good story, Marinette,” she said. “I...I think Shyanne and Paul can see us.”

“So you think we should give them something to see?”

Alya smirked and nodded. Her heart was pounding, her hands were warm under the gloves, but she tried to swing Marinette as confidently as possible, so that once again, Alya was backwards. She skated in, holding them both steady with one arm on each forearm, and tilted her head. Marinette came the rest of the way, kissing her for a good, wonderful second with just a bit of roughness on her lips’ texture.

“Your lips are a little chapped,” Alya commented, her own lips still brushing against Marinette’s.

“Sorry. I can put on chapstick-”

“I don’t mind,” Alya promised, kissing her again. Longer. More open-mouthed. After all, the texture felt better that way…

After a good three- no, a _wonderful_ three more kisses, giggling Marinette pulled back. She found her groove again, side-by-side with Alya, but skating considerably closer. Their shoulders brushed repeatedly. “I hope it snows tonight,” Marinette said.

Almost an hour later, when they were back together with Paul and Shyanne, Alya mentally replayed their kisses and replayed Marinette’s cheesy story. She glanced at her fake girlfriend from across the shoe paddock, hoping to see her smiling and chattering with Shyanne. God, Alya loved to see that smile. Instead, she saw her surreptitiously applying chapstick.

And, confession? That was an even better sight than a smile.

———

Vanessa’s house looked like a postcard. It was old, by American standards at least, a rambling one story home with a fenced yard in a Long Island suburban neighborhood. The cold was bitter and biting here, but the snow was a white and sparkling blanket, twinkling back colors washed from the Christmas lights that lined the roof. There was a snowman in the front with cat ears, lovingly rolled together by Alya, Marinette, Vanessa, and her little brother Javier. (And Adrien loved the pictures they sent him.)

The inside felt just as picturesque. Vanessa’s mother had decked the halls in garlands and ceramic Santa Clauses spotted the bookshelves. In the family room, four ruby red stockings hung above a roaring fire, joined by two green stockings Mrs. Cervantes found for Alya and Marinette. Their lovely Christmas tree was fat and smelled like pine. Presents sat underneath, beckoning to be poked and prodded before being opened the next morning.

But the three young adults weren’t in the family room with the tree and gifts. They were one room over, standing around the Cervantes’s large kitchen island, rolling out cookie dough and cutting sugar cookie shapes. Marinette looked insanely cute in her pink apron, so Alya waited to make sure Vanessa was in the room and then told her so. Marinette was just as quick to compliment Alya’s ponytail and apron in reply. Together, all three of them laughed and sang and chattered away. Javier would occasionally jump up to remind them the cookies had to be good enough for Santa Claus and steal some dough. Vanessa would yell at him and swat his hands, but that’s exactly when Marinette and Alya would pull up their own pieces of dough to eat.

“I hope the finished cookies are good like the dough,” Alya declared.

“The first batch will be done in about three minutes, so we can see once they cool down! But they’re not really done until they’re frosted,” Vanessa explained. She scattered more flour on the counter and dropped a big ball of dough over it, sending the flour flying in a puff. All three girls laughed wildly, Alya sputtering to get the flour off her face.

Marinette looked over at her and laughed anew. She floured her hands, but instead of going for the fresh cookie dough, Marinette grabbed the end of Alya’s ponytail. Ignoring laughing complaints, Marinette combed and coated the end of the tail until satisfied. “Look! You’re Rena Rouge!” She cheered.

Alya looked back at her in confusion. “What? I’m not-“ Marinette brandished Mrs. Cervantes’ copper pan, shiny enough to act like a mirror. And indeed, the white tip of Alya’s ponytail looked like a rudimentary fox tail.

Frankly, it was adorable. Almost as adorable as the way Marinette giggled and hid her mouth with her hands, looking at Alya with a darker, less-voluminous version of Rena’s hair. Like she was so delighted to see even that much of Rena on Alya, like she _missed_ her. So Alya smirked, spinning to face Vanessa. “Where’s that red sugar stuff?”

“Um…the frosting?” Vanessa turned, found the Pillsbury frosting can, and brandished it out. “This? Frosting? Why?”

“Yes! Frosting!” Alya scooped it up with a wicked grin and turned to Marinette. “If _I’m_ Rena Rouge, then _you’re_ Ladybug!” she announced, dipping fingers into the red frosting and running after Marinette.

Marinette squealed and nearly tripped as she started to run around the counter, away from Alya. Laughter pealed through the kitchen, Vanessa melting into the wall to avoid being trampled. Eventually, Marinette’s clumsiness caught up to her and she almost fell, so Alya caught her by the wrist. Just like Marinette had ignored Alya’s shrieks, Alya ignored the pleas of, “no, no! Not that!”, instead listening to the way she laughed.

She spun Marinette to face her and swiped her red hand over Marinette’s cheeks and nose, up around her eyes, across her forehead, getting far too much frosting in her bangs. Marinette stopped squirming, but still laughed, while Alya drew a few circles in frosting in the spot where her mask should sit. “Voilà. Ladybug!”

Vanessa looked over at them and laughed. “Those are two of the Paris superheroes, right? The ones you talk about, Marinette? Get together! I want to take a picture!” Vanessa laughed, caught up in the infectious humor, while she looked around for her phone. Alya and Marinette giggled, pulling together side-by-side. Marinette’s arm wrapped around Alya’s back, and Alya turned her head and her ponytail to show its white tip for the camera, effectively posing herself to look lovingly at Marinette. Not a hard pose to hold at all. “Okay, on three!” Vanessa counted down from three and snapped a picture. “Oh, my god. That’s so stinking cute. Alya, kiss her cheek!”

“But Rena Rouge never-”

Alya cut off Marinette’s complaint with following directions. Her quick kiss made Marinette squeak, which made Vanessa giggle, turning around to look at her phone better. “I’ll send these to you, Marinette. Wow, you’re so cute, what the hell?! It’s gross.”

Marinette turned to look at Alya and laughed. “You have frosting on your nose now, Alya,” she said. She swiped the frosting off of Alya’s nose and bopped it onto her lips. “Lipstick!” she declared, giggling as Alya pulled her tight into a hug. And then Marinette leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t the first time Marinette initiated a kiss, but it was the first time she’d done so with Vanessa’s back turned. But Marinette didn’t seem to think about it, instead cooing mischievously, “Ladybug and Rena Rouge, oh là là. What would Paris think?”

“They’d think we’re pretty hot,” Alya teased, kissing her back again. Imagining, through her closed eyes, what that pretty hot kiss would be like. And the only thing that pulled them apart was the beeping of the oven.

———

Christmas Eve dinner at the Cervantes home was far more humble than Alya was accustomed. French tradition called for that night’s feast to be a budget blowout with tables laden in foie gras, escargot, turkey, scallops, vegetables, fine wine, and twelve luscious desserts, and Marlene Cesaire took it seriously. Not to say the arepas and tamales weren’t delicious; they were. Alya and Marinette both had seconds.

It was just different. And finished a lot sooner than the 5 hour meal at her mother’s table. So after everyone else had gone to bed, Marinette and Alya slipped out of their shared guest room and returned to the family room. Marinette busied herself in the dark kitchen, filling mugs of hot chocolate as quietly as possible while Alya stoked the fire. They kept the lights off and conversation quiet, but the electric lights on the tree illuminated the room and the plate of cookie crumbs by the fire.

“It’s weird, knowing everyone is in bed this early on Christmas Eve,” Alya admitted, calling over her shoulder to the kitchen in a loud whisper.

“It’s because they’re going to wake us up at midnight,” Marinette explained. She walked over with two steaming mugs just as Alya found a place on the couch. “Javier always runs around waking everyone up. That’s what Vanessa said, at least.”

“Why not just stay up?” Alya asked, falling backwards into Marinette’s lap. Marinette’s cocoa sloshed in the mugs, but didn’t spill. She gently put one mug on the end table and took a sip out of the other. Alya looked up at her best friend. “It’s not that late.”

“I don’t mind it like this. You and I can stay up,” Marinette offered. She dipped a hand into Alya’s curls, her hand soft and loving and eliciting a humm of pleasure from Alya. She closed her eyes, but with Christmas lights strung on the tree to their side and fire crackling nearby, she still saw dark flashes of color. “It was nice to see our parents today over Skype. I’m glad they had dinner together.”

“Me, too. Manman has been so worried about your parents having Christmas without you. I know they’ve been struggling without you at home and wanted to come to New York. But it is their busy season…”

“Oh, I get it, I didn’t expect they’d come. And I don’t mind at all! I really wanted to have a Christmas in New York City. It was amazing you could come to make it less lonely,” Marinette admitted. Alya opened her eyes to see Marinette looking out the window, doubtlessly watching flakes of snow dance in street lights. “This has been wonderful so far.”

“Yes,” Alya agreed. She loved this moment of intimacy alone, but honestly wished someone else, _anyone else_ was in the room with them. She wanted an excuse to reach up and kiss Marinette. “Thank you for bringing me, Mari. I love it here.”

“On Long Island?” She scratched Alya’s scalp under the hair, which felt criminally good.

“I meant in New York, with you. I like seeing what your life here is like. Christmas is really magic here. Being with you is kind of magic, too.”

The world was quiet. Here in this random suburb of Long Island with snow muffling the world, there were no constant streams of noise and sirens. Quieter than New York, quieter than Paris, even quieter than Christmas in Martinique, with thrushes and frogs singing. Here, there was just the creak of the old house, the snapping fire, the breath of Marinette, Alya’s own heartbeat.

Marinette sipped her hot cocoa again. Alya wiggled her fingers for a sip, so Marinette said, “drink your own cocoa, Alya!”

“ _Choupeeeeette_ ,” Alya whined, teasingly. Marinette giggled, but she just pushed Alya’s head off her lap. “You wound me, girl,” she complained, but sat up to get her own mug.

While Alya’s back was turned to Marinette, Marinette asked, “What would you change about this Christmas?”

Alya sat back against the couch, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh with Marinette. She took a warm sip of thick cocoa, thinking up an answer. What was the best way to say _nothing, nothing, except make it real._ “I wish I wasn’t going home in four days. I want to stay longer.”

Alya expected Marinette to coo an ‘aww’, tell her that was sweet, or tease her. She didn’t expect thoughtful silence, followed by, “Really? All of this? Even the, um, lie we’re telling?”

Now it was Alya’s turn for silence. She weighed her options. If she told the truth and it made Marinette uncomfortable, well, whose fault was that, really? Marinette did ask for this charade. But even then, Alya would leave four days later. They’d have months to get over a little awkwardness. If Alya lied, or just said it was ‘fine’, and it made Marinette satisfied, well, Alya would be no better or worse off.

But if Alya told the truth about how she felt and Marinette was understanding...or even on board…

Alya’s heart pounded. She went with her gut’s decision and said, “Especially the lie. Girl, if I could change one thing about this Christmas… that lie would have been real.” She turned to look at Marinette, squeezing her mug for all it was worth. “I have to confess something, Mari. I probably should have confessed awhile ago, but I realized how much I need you in my life after you left for New York. So I came here kind of really in...into you. I haven’t been trying very hard to pretend to like you. I mean, I _do_ like you. So I just do what feels right; I don't pretend.”

“Oh, my god,” Marinette whispered. Her own mug was shaking in her hands until she set it down and her hands instead went to cover her face. It was typical Marinette panic, but altogether unreadable. So Alya just stared, waiting, trying to keep her calm. So...should she be packing her bag, or... “Oh _my god,”_ Marinette repeated.

Finally, Marinette grabbed Alya’s wrists, sloshing the cocoa. “I have a confession, too.” Alya’s eyes snapped to Marinette’s and she swallowed against a massive lump in her throat. Marinette stumbled on, “I told you the truth about what happened, okay? Vanessa and Shyanne assumed we were dating and they asked about it and I misunderstood. By the time I figured out what they meant, it kind of was too late...but even more than that, I...I wanted it to be true! I did! I realized I _did_ want to be your girlfriend and for you to be mine and I figured since you were all the way in Paris, I could just pretend it was true, and you’d never have to worry about it! So I never, ever corrected them. Except that. You know. You showed up.”

Breathlessly, Alya said, “You say that like my showing up was a bad thing. But wait. Back up.” Alya turned away from Marinette with her heart pounding in her ears and her mind replaying every word. She set the cocoa on the table and turned back to Marinette. “Did you say that you _like_ me? You want to date me?”

“Um...I...yes? But you said you like me, too. Right? Didn’t you?” Marinette’s eyes went wide. “Oh, god. Please tell me I didn’t just make that up. I didn’t just-”

“Marinette,” Alya grabbed her face, quieting her instantly. She wished she could quiet her own heart. “You’re serious? You really like me? Because I do like you, too. Oh, my god, I do. I really, really do.”

Her voice raised about two octaves as Marinette asked, “Really?”

“I’ve liked you pretty much ever since you left. And now that I’ve got to try dating you, I _really_ want to keep doing it.”

“For real, you mean?”

Alya laughed. “Of course for real! I don’t want to ever think I can’t kiss you again.

“Starting now?”

In response, Alya moved in the few inches separating their faces. She kissed Marinette, tasting chocolate on her lips. “Starting now.” She kissed again, lingering this time. Marinette’s hands left Alya’s face finally, going to her sides and the girls fell back against the couch to kiss. For once, they kissed with no one watching. Long, delighted kisses where their arms held one another in a grip as if they would never let go. Kissing Marinette was amazing before, but kissing her and knowing she enjoyed it was far, far more incredible.

Alya pulled back first for once, Marinette instead resting her head on Alya’s shoulder. In this position, Alya could stroke her back and listen to her happy sighs. “I thought you didn’t want to date long distance.”

“I didn’t want to date Adrien long distance,” Marinette agreed, “but you and I have dated long distance for six months now and it worked out fine. You just didn’t know we were doing that.”

“That’s not how dating works, girl,” Alya laughed, tickling Marinette in the ribs.

“It kind of is,” Marinette disagreed. “Did _you_ date anyone else all this year? How many movies have we seen together over Skype? All those places in New York that I took you? When we both went to the grocery store to cook the same meal at the same time? When we bought mini pumpkins to paint on Halloween over Skype!” Marinette cuddled tighter into Alya’s sweater. “Those were all dates.”

“Dear god, I’m realizing why it took you so long to get with Adrien,” Alya laughed. She kissed the top of Marinette’s head. “It doesn’t count as a date unless both people know it’s a date.”

“Well, confession? It always counted to me.”

“...it kind of counted to me, too,” Alya finally confessed. “At least, in my heart. But not in my head.”

“Now it can count in both,” Marinette declared. “We can do six months long distance, Alya. And when I come home to Paris for your graduation, I’ll confess my love all over again.”

Graduation. It felt so far away, and it had so much time without Marinette between now and then. She would happily use it as her goal post back in France, but tonight, with the fire warming them and the Christmas lights bathing Marinette in blues, reds, yellows, and greens, Alya would rather live in the moment. “Okay. So we’ll do this girlfriends thing for real, you and me, long distance and everything.” Marinette sat up again, face to face with Alya. She beamed, giggled, and nodded. “But for now, can we enjoy being in the same room...and being alone?”

Marinette’s soft smile shifted to something dark that made Alya quake in her seat. Clearly, her best friend...her _girlfriend!..._ had something in mind. She grinned, she nodded, and she took Alya into her arms for their most satisfying kiss yet. There was nothing under the tree that would ever compare to that kiss and every promise it represented. Especially when those promises tasted like love, peppermint, chocolate, and the best damn confessions in Alya’s young life.

**Author's Note:**

> *"meuf" can easiest be translated as "giiiiirl". It is verlan, which is French slang (popular with youth and especially black Parisians) where the word is inverted front to back: "femme", or "woman", is inverted into "meuf". Alya would say "meuf", or "girl", a lot to Marinette.


End file.
